Complications
by kimbee
Summary: It's Christmas, and the crew have planned to celebrate. They encounter some... Complications... but there's not a lot they can do about it. What can you do when you and your best mate are being held against your will? Sherlolly pairing, NO slash. Rating is because of some later scenes, and because I'm not really sure what it would fall under.
1. Don't Look in the Fridge

**A/N: Okay... so this is my first ever published fic, so if you would review I would really appreciate it, don't refrain from criticising the heck out of it. I really don't mind. This fic was a Christmas present for a friend, so excuse the Christmas setting. And I assure you, the 'action' (if you could call whatever comes from my head action) will follow this relatively... light... start. Also, all of my chapters are relatively short, so... ummm... they're good if you have a low attention span?  
Remember: I (very obviously) do not own any of the familiar characters, only the plot (and probably not even that...)  
**

* * *

"Sherlock...?" John paused. It was Christmas day, and he had bought and wrapped gifts for all of his friends/acquaintances- including Sherlock's mysterious brother, Mycroft. "Sherlock, you need to get up. They're going to be here soon." There was no answer. John sighed, turned his back, and left. There was no one, no single person on Earth who could be nearly as infuriating as his flatmate. Just as he was about to exit the flat, he heard Sherlock open the door. John turned around only to be greeted by the sight of Sherlock in nothing but a bed sheet.

"Merry Christmas, John."  
"Um... thanks? How are you naked? In the middle of winter?!" John's face had contorted into a mixture of confusion, amazement and disgust, which Sherlock noted to be quite amusing. Before he could reply with a mildly sarcastic and not-at-all true remark about how he could quite easily be clothed, and how-did-John-know-he-was-naked, a cheery Mrs Hudson strolled through the door carrying a bottle of red wine with a bow on it.  
"They'll be here soon b... Why, Sherlock! What the hell are you doing naked in the middle of winter?!" Sherlock gave her his best irritating 'get-out-of-here-please' grin and strolled back into his room and shut the door with a bang. John shook his head and made his way to the kitchen, indicating that she should follow.  
"I'm sorry I didn't warn you, Mrs Hudson."  
"Oh, it's quite alright deary. It's Sherlock-I should be used to it by now."  
John stopped and shook his head again. "Unbelievable."  
Mrs Hudson looked up in confusion. "I'm sorry?"  
"Guess what's in the fridge this week?"  
"Oh, don't tell me it's a head. I could never stand those. Thumbs, fingers, tongues, ears, hands, they're all fine. But a head? That's just too much."  
"Nope. Sherlock bought a turkey."  
"Are you sure it's a turkey? I heard that certain parts of the body resemble other meats..."  
"Yes, John. It's a turkey. And Mrs Hudson, I am afraid to tell you that you had been completely misinformed. There is no part of the human body that remotely looks like a turkey, let alone a cow or lamb." Sherlock had since gotten himself cleaned up and dressed, in the usual sharp business shirt and pants. John was still getting over the fact that Sherlock, the most insensitive, infuriating, and annoyingly smart person on Earth had bought a turkey for Christmas, a day, John thought, that Sherlock probably didn't even know existed.  
"Yes, surprise, surprise, I actually _know_ what Christmas is and the time of year it occurs in. It's incredibly hard not to, London basically advertises the fact across every street. Not to mention the influx of Australian and New Zealander tourists who flood the entire place with their kids on summer holidays. I'm not stupid, John."  
They were interrupted by the doorbell. Mrs Hudson squealed in delight.  
"Someone's here! Come on boys, let's go and see who it is." She all but dragged John down the stairs with her and Sherlock followed begrudgingly behind.

* * *

**There we go! So that's my first ever chapter on here. Review and let me know what you thought. Was it awful? Reasonably fine? I'm trusting you to tell me...**


	2. Don't Open That Door

**Okay, we move onto chapter 2... this is where stuff starts to go awry for the crew. Thanks to everyone who looked at my story, I really appreciate it!  
****Again, there is no way that I would ever have the rights to Sherlock... if only...**

* * *

Sherlock knew that something was wrong as soon as he got to the front landing. There was a distinct clink of a gun loading, and he quickly grabbed Mrs Hudson's collar to pull her back into her flat. "Stay. Here." His voice was almost a whisper as he quickly indicated to John what exactly was wrong before pulling out a handgun from underneath the umbrella stand. Sherlock went to the door, and turned back to John, who had pulled out his own fire arm. Together, they silently counted down from three, and as Sherlock opened the door, John aimed at the nearest perp, and was startled to find a very stressed and sweaty Molly Hooper on the other end of his sight. Sherlock acted quickly, hauling Molly into the flat, slamming the door shut and pulling her into Mrs Hudson's flat and shutting the door, with John bringing up the rear. As Sherlock pulled a coffee table, couch and fridge in front of the door, a spray of gunshots could be heard flying throughout the front landing. Heavy footsteps could be heard going up the stairs and a boot slamming into the door that led to Sherlock's flat. Sherlock leaned towards Mrs Hudson and a near hysterical Molly. "Don't. Move. A muscle." His voice was barely a breath as he and John moved towards the nearest exit, counted, and they both burst through the door, only to be met by half a dozen goons.  
"Now, John!" Both Sherlock and John shot at the same time, taking down two of the closest men, but leaving four very large, very disgruntled looking men who disarmed them almost immediately. Mrs Hudson clamped her hand over Molly's mouth when Sherlock got hit in the head by the butt of a gun, desperately trying to keep their hiding place, behind an overturned dining table, secret.  
Sherlock felt the contact between the butt of the gun and his head. He landed one last punch on the man's jugular before his vision blackened and he crumpled to the ground. John, seeing his best friend fall, fought harder, but the battle was between him and seven men, as the goons upstairs had run down after finding the flat empty and hearing the commotion downstairs. John grabbed the closest man by the shoulder, and drove his knee into the man's ribs. The crunch was audible, and the man went down in a shriek of pain. As John turned to the next man, he noticed that the man was a left hander, which made him easier to take down. As he dodged a blow aimed for his head, John kicked out the man's knee and threw him into the next guy who was about to make contact, causing the first man to be hit in the nose by his friend's knee and the second man to break his leg. John turned, enjoying the battle, although not the circumstance, but nevertheless prepared for more. What John had not factored in, however, was the fact that he still had four men to take down. And they all had their guns trained on him. Sighing, he gave up, put up his hands, and surrendered. The men scrambled to securely cable tie John's hands behind him. One of the men (presumably the head of the operations team) put his hand up to his ear.  
"We got 'em, boss... Yep, both of them are here, just has he said...The girl rabbitted, should we go after her? ... Understood." The man turned to John and grunted. "Up. Go." John was all but dragged to his feet and out the door, to a waiting van out the front. He turned around, and noted that Sherlock was being lugged along. As they got to the van, John got unceremoniously thrown in, and Sherlock landed on top of him. There was a man in the back of the van, a guard, obviously waiting for them. He produced two syringes, and John felt the prick of a needle until the world faded to black.

* * *

**So now you've read up to the actual interesting bits, what did you think? I'd really appreciate a review right now (really, just 1!) so please do let me know. More should be coming tomorrow. **


	3. Don't Freak Out

**I'd like to take the time to wish everyone a very Happy New Year, as well as thanking my one reviewer, Clufie, and anyone who followed either me or the story. I don't own any of the Sherlock characters. (Something you should be glad about...)  
This chapter is a whole lot shorter than the other one according to the word count, so I apologise for the shortness. **

* * *

After ten minutes of silence, Molly cautiously poked her head up, checking for any signs of activity. There was nothing to indicate any human presence besides her and Mrs Hudson, so she quickly walked to the phone on Mrs Hudson's wall and dialled Scotland Yard.  
"I need to talk to Lestrade. It's urgent, Sherlock has been taken."  
There was a brief period of silence on the other end of the line, before the call was diverted and a very harassed Lestrade answered.  
"Hello? Who is this?"  
Molly piped up, "It's Molly. Molly Hooper. I work at St Barts?"  
Lestrade was alarmed at the flustered tone of her voice, and calmly asked her step by step as to what had happened that day.  
"This morning, I was woken up by a bang in my house. I thought nothing of it, thinking it was the cat and went to make sure it was ok. When I got to the kitchen..." Molly's voice faltered as she relived the terror of seeing a man dressed in a suit with a goblin mask on. She couldn't get the image of the haunting eyes out of her head. Lestrade's voice broke through her thoughts.  
"Molly? Are you ok? Let me know where you are, I'll come to you."  
"Oh. Uhhhh... sorry. I'm at 221 Baker Street."  
"Ok, I'm leaving now. Is there anyone with you?"  
"Yes. Oh, yes, there's me and Mrs Hudson. And about five or so men in the front room. They're all knocked out I think..."  
Lestrade noted this. "Ok, Molly, I need you to ask Mrs Hudson if she has any cable ties, duct tape, anything that would be able to restrain these guys out front."  
Mrs Hudson quickly opened a drawer full of duct tape.  
"Yes, yes she has duct tape."  
"Ok. Now I want you to go out the front and tape all of their hands, and arms together, behind them. Do one at the wrists, and another just below the elbow joint. Also, if you have enough do their ankles and just above their knees. Make sure you get as much skin as possible, try to avoid taping over their clothes of you can. I'll be there soon."  
"Ok. Thank you. I'll go and do that now."  
"Molly. Try to stay safe. Tape the ones who don't look physically harmed first, they're more likely to wake up or be more of a problem when they do. I should arrive in about five to ten minutes, depending on traffic."  
"Alright, thank you. Thank you so much. Please hurry." And with that Molly, put down the phone, grabbed three rolls of tape, and set to work, with Mrs Hudson following her and helping out. After they had taped the men's arms, elbows, wrists, ankles, and knees, Molly decided to tape their mouths. They didn't want anyone waking up and making a fuss, after all.

* * *

**Like I said. Short. I'm sorry. Let me know if it's bothering you, and I'll group two of my 'chapters' together. It will shorten the amount of time it will take for this thing to be published though...  
Again, please review, if possible I'd like to have 2 (two!) for this chapter.  
Kimbee**


	4. Don't Tell Me About My Family

**EEEEEEEEK I would sincerely like to thank _Clufie, Little Miss Witterer, __and Snivy of the Top Hat _for their reviews.  
I finally figured out how to format this right(ish) so it's not so squished together. Here, we come back to Sherlock to see how he's doing...  
Also, I think we can agree that I don't own Sherlock. **

* * *

Sherlock jolted to life after receiving a swift blow to the face. He was strung up from the ceiling, his wrists being held up by a chain that went through the cable ties to the roof, and his ankles connected to the floor in a similar fashion. Sherlock was thankful that his feet were still on the ground. A man, presumably from somewhere in South America, judging from the accent, spoke up.

"Where is Mycroft Holmes?"

Sherlock decided to completely ignore the man and instead spend his time awake looking absorbing and making mental notes about his surroundings, mentally bookmarking anything that may have been of use to him. They were in an empty warehouse, with two exits... One of which the man and his friends had just entered through, judging by the streaks of floor that were liberated from dust. Outside, there were two, maybe three men, in case he tried to escape. And upon inspection, the man from South America came from Chile. The accent, now that Sherlock thought about it, was distinct to the central region of Chile. Rich, possible weapons smuggler with lots of footmen to do his dirty work, seen by the lack of calluses and the fancy Rolex watch. His decision to ignore the man and simply observe did not go unnoticed. The man nodded to a guard, and he was hit right in the diaphragm, not unexpected, but still painful. Sherlock gazed at the man, giving him a look so penetrating that it would crumble the Great Wall of China. He was rewarded with another blow to the face, and subsequently decided to irritate the man, just for fun.

"Your silence will do nothing. Where is Mycroft Holmes?"  
"My brother's whereabouts are of no importance to me."

The man chuckled lowly, pacing around Sherlock. He looked at Sherlock, head tilted, amusement written on his face.

"You are funny, no? I will ask one more time, and trust me when I say that you have one more chance before I must inflict some pain. Where. Is. Mycroft. Holmes."

Sherlock looked up at him, ignoring the small river of blood that was now flowing down his face, carrying an expression of nonchalance.

"I don't understand why you are so desperate to find Mycroft. Clearly, you are from the central region of Chile, the accent made that ever so clear. You've been in Britain for a long time, evident from the lack of tan lines around your collar and wrist where your suits end. You are clearly in a criminal business, I'm thinking weapons smuggling due the amount of foot soldiers and familiarity with violence. Not one to get their hands dirty, are you? Also, you have some family issues, mainly to do with abandonment, maybe they left you, or maybe they died young. Your closest family member was your brother, but even he is gone, killed, not by natural cause, but due to a raid gone wrong on your compound. Or, well, maybe a raid gone right, if you look at it from a world safety point of view." Sherlock paused, and gave a smug smile. "Was I wrong about anything?"

The man, who had gone from every emotion ranging from amusement to fury, now showed no emotion. "My parents died in a fire... they left my sister and me to fight the rest of the world..." with that he trailed off. Sherlock muttered under his breath, "Sister! Always the sister..." and with that, the man nodded, and Sherlock was drugged back to sleep.

* * *

**Okiedokeyday, what did we think? Please let me know, I have 4 reviews after 3 chapters, and it's way more than I was expecting, so thank you. However, I still beg of thee to review. Even if it consists of 1 word that reads "Awful" I will take that as a win. (It would, however, be nicer if the one word was "Okay" or the like.) Thank you for reading!  
Kimbee**


	5. Don't Lose Faith

**Alrighty then, this is Chapter 5! Thanks to my reviewers for chapter 4, _Rocking the Redhead_ and _Clufie_, as well as anyone who added me onto their alert list. We're back to Molly and Lestrade in this chapter, and we get to find out a little bit of Molly's side of the story. I hope you enjoy!  
****I own nothing. You need not be told by now.**

* * *

When Lestrade arrived at 221 Baker Street, the first thing he noticed was the bullet ridden door. He knocked anyway, out of habit, and then entered. That's where he met a very ruffled Molly Hooper having a cup of tea with an incredibly calm Mrs Hudson, who was staring down the nearest conscious man, whose mouth, ankles, elbows, wrists, and knees were all duct taped together.

"I see you took care of them." He turned to the man. "Never underestimate the elderly, my boy."

Molly looked up from her cup of tea, eyes tear stained, and all but jumped onto Lestrade.  
"Oh, detective, I'm so glad you're here. They took Sherlock and John, I don't know where, there's been nothing, he hasn't contacted or anything."

Lestrade was startled, but not overly surprised at the amount that Molly seemed to care for Sherlock. He did find it strange though, as he remembered that Sherlock was horrifically insensitive to Molly this time last year. Although, it'd been the first time that he'd ever seen Sherlock to apologise to anyone, so that alone had made that particular Christmas memorable for him.

"Breathe, Molly. I've got some officers and forensics coming down as we speak, and enough cars to cart all of these guys out of your flat, Mrs Hudson."

"Thank you, dear. Sorry you couldn't come in more... jovial circumstances. I'll go and fix you a cup of tea."

And with that she scurried off to the kitchen, leaving Lestrade and Molly alone in the living area. He gently led her to the couch, and they sat down opposite to each other.

"Molly, I need you to tell me what happened. Go slow; think about if there was anything different about these guys, anything that will help us identify them. Hair colour, height, any tattoos or piercings, weight, just... anything that'll help us to figure out who has Sherlock and John."

Molly sighed, staring down at her empty teacup, subconsciously swirling it as she spoke.  
"I told you already about this morning, with the cat. As I went to the kitchen, there was a man there, waiting for me. He had a mask... a... goblin mask on... He had a suit on. Ummm... I don't know the colour, it was too dark, but I think it was a light coloured shirt, maybe white. He grabbed me, put a black bag over my head, and said that if I didn't walk out and do as he said, he'd shoot me. He had an exotic accent; I'm not exactly sure which one. I did as he said, and he put me into the back of a vehicle... I think it was a van. We weren't alone... there were, about three different men there with me. Not including the driver. They drove me somewhere, I didn't know where... and then we stopped... and..."

Molly's entire body had started shaking, the tears threatening to reappear on her face. Lestrade put a reassuring hand on her shoulder, and with a voice full of concern asked, "What happened, Molly? Did they hurt you? Just... breathe. It's all over now."

With that Molly pulled herself together, and took a deep breath before going on.  
"Then they brought me here, they took the bag off my head, cut the cable tie they'd put on my hands, and pushed me up to the door. They told me to knock, and held guns up to me." She turned slightly, facing the window. "If anything happens to Sherlock, it's all my fault... I should have done something..."

Lestrade sighed. "Molly. There's nothing you could have done. They'd just go after someone else close to Sherlock. Don't worry, I'm sure he'll be fine." But even as the words left his mouth, Lestrade desperately hoped that he was right.

* * *

**Well, that was a little bit heavier than usual, right? (wrong?!) I sincerely hope you liked it, and I hope to hear from you in a review. Please, don't be shy. I would like to hit 10 reviews by the time I post tomorrow, if it's not too much to ask.  
****Thank you for reading it!  
****Kimbee**


	6. Don't Die

**Chapter 6! We are halfway there. And I have 10 reviews! I'd like to take the time to thank my reviewers, _Guest _and _Worst3ver, _and especially to _Clufie_ who has reviewed just about every chapter! This chapter appears to be particularly short, and for that I apologise. But, the information in this one kind of builds the scene for the coming chapters.  
****And, as always, I do not own anything to do with Sherlock. Not even a shirt (sadly...)**

* * *

John woke up, horribly disoriented. As he looked around the empty room, he noticed an odd sense of weight on his arms. He turned to look, and only then did the events of the last three hours click. Seeing a naked Sherlock. Getting shot at. Kicking ass. Getting kidnapped. Getting drugged. And now, he chained to the wall of the world's darkest, mankiest room he'd ever seen. The room was small, no larger than his room in the flat. Except his room was comfortable and warm, not coated in dust and rust covered metal and bearing an uncanny resemblance to that of a horror movie setting. John thanked heavens that he'd had to keep his tetanus shots up to date as a doctor. It was only then that he remembered Sherlock's condition. He had just been clubbed in the back of the head after all. Seeing as Sherlock wasn't here, he was probably getting interrogated by whoever it was who had captured them. It was, after all, Sherlock who had the mega-brain, so it would be natural to assume that Sherlock had whatever knowledge they wanted... right? John's thoughts were interrupted by a bang of the door. As he retreated as far back into the corner as the chains would allow, three men approached. Their sinister smiles terrified John, but he kept his patented army 'don't show fear' face on. When they got to him, they removed the chains, but tied his hands securely behind his back, and all but forced him to follow where they led. John went through numerous corridors; all looked the same, so he couldn't really be sure how many. All he knew was that his shoulders were getting stiff, and that he needed to go and see the physio after this ordeal. As he was wondering what they could possibly want from him, (he wasn't the one with the super mind, after all) they rounded the last corner, and the reason why they kept him became horrifically clear- John was going to be used as leverage. And it wasn't going to be fun for either of them.

After Sherlock refused to tell them anything, even under the threat of physical harm (which Sherlock pointed out was completely and utterly useless, seeing as if they decided to take a tooth out or cut his tongue out, how did they expect him to talk then? And breaking bones, while it might seem like a good idea at the time, would probably result with him passing out and then how did they think they were going to get information?) the captors gave up and went for the pre-prepared trump card- One Doctor John Watson, Sherlock's best friend.

As John walked into the room, the first thing he noticed was that Sherlock looked awful. Not that he didn't look pale usually, but most of the time he didn't have blood running everywhere, or a face that looked like it had been hit multiple times with a brick. John made a mental note to try to check to make sure if Sherlock was okay, try to stop the bleeding, try to stop infection, whatever he could to keep Sherlock alive long enough to get them out of there.  
That is, if he managed to stay alive...

* * *

**So what did you think of Chapter 6?! What do you think will happen when John and Sherlock are reunited? Please leave a review, it doesn't have to be deep and meaningful, just let me know you exist. :)  
It would be nice to have another 2 reviews, as I'm averaging 2 per chapter (which I am over the moon about, so thank you!)  
Thanks for reading!  
Kimbee**


	7. Don't Say Anything

**Chapter 7! (Yeah, I forgot to mention that I do daily updates, especially because this story is already written)  
Thank you to EVERYONE who favourited or Followed, it really made my day to wake up and find so many emails with follow and favourite alerts. So thank you. :)  
A very special thank you to my reviewers, ****_Clufie _****and ****_Inaieu._**

**I sincerely apologise if people become ever so slightly OOC, I wrote like 7/8ths of the story and then realised that I may have stuffed it up, but if you don't notice anything particularly odd, ignore this message. **

**I don't own anything Sherlock related. You get the picture.  
NB. Sorry if you got double alerts, I had issues with the formatting.**

* * *

They forced John to sit opposite to Sherlock, securely tying him down to the chair at his wrists, elbows, back, and ankles. Sherlock watched on, aghast at what they were planning, but realising that he had a dilemma: his brother, the embodiment of British National Security, or John.

John sat strapped to the chair, brainstorming ways to make the psychological torture less for Sherlock. He thought of passing out, but that didn't seem like a good idea because they couldn't communicate, so he instead decided to sit there and look as stoic as humanly possible. Even when the man silently nodded to one of the men who produced a fairly large pair of pliers, John found the strength within him to sit motionless in the chair, staring into Sherlock's eyes, trying everything could to tell him that he was okay, not to worry about him, he'd be okay. Sherlock meanwhile, looked into John's eyes, internally struggling with the option to either give up Mycroft's position instantly and saving John the pain (not only endangering National Security, but risking the fact that he hadn't worked out exactly what these guys had planned for him once they got the information) or make John have to suffer right in front of his eyes, all for the 'greater good'. It was with great sadness that he made his choice.

Sherlock stood motionless, a gun to his head to make sure he watched, horrified at the suffering John was enduring. So far, he had one molar extracted, been water boarded twice, cut 3 times, and was now about to be electrocuted. Sherlock couldn't take the strain anymore; his brain was split in two, each side yelling in argument at the other, each side wrestling for power. His normally ordered brain was in meltdown, and he let his eyes droop, unable to take it anymore. He could vaguely hear the men around him yelling abuse and threats at him, but he gave in, ignoring the scream tearing through his consciousness, letting the black curtains surround him and draw him in.

John sat in his chair (not that he had much choice), panting, bleeding, and quite frankly having an awful day. This was not how he envisioned spending his Christmas. And, quite frankly, electrocution was now at the top of things that John never wanted to endure ever again. Ever. The molar wasn't too bad (the gunshot was much, much worse), and John was a great swimmer, so the first round of water boarding was fine. The second, not so much... he had ended up convulsing in his chair after his body decided it would like to cough. He had ended up coughing up everything in about a 5 minute break, which his captors so generously allowed him. The cuts were small potatoes, although there might be some very interesting looking scars along one side of his face and his arm, the blade was sharp and the cut was clean, and John rather hoped it would stay that way. The man had left after Sherlock became non-responsive, leaving John tied in the chair and Sherlock hanging from the chains, promising more pain tomorrow. Although he knew that he had to keep strong, so that both he and Sherlock could go in one piece, his mind wondered what the man had meant by more pain, not to mention who it was going to be inflicted upon. As he sat there in a bloody, sodden heap, he couldn't help but wonder how he and Sherlock were going to make it out alive.

* * *

*** This space is so that the chapter isn't spoiled by my author's note. I apologise if it is. If you're reading this and haven't read the chapter, I recommend finishing it before venturing down here.**

*****  
*****  
*****  
*****  
*****  
*****  
*****  
*****  
*****  
**Soooo... what did we think about Sherlock's choice? That was the part I realised was slightly iffy- Would he really have chosen National Security over John..? Probably not. But I wouldn't think that John would have let Sherlock say anything, hence the title of the chapter. I hope this one didn't turn you off.**

**Please do review, I appreciate every single one that I receive, and would like to be able to have 14 by the next chapter. (I really, REALLY wouldn't complain if there were more though...)  
Thanks for reading!  
Kimbee**


	8. Don't Cry

**Hello hello hello! It is that time of day (well, night in my case) again! Here lies chapter 8 of the story**.

**A very big thank you to ****_Reiterin_**** and ****_Reviewer_**** for.. well.. reviewing. Also, thanks to everyone who followed!  
As usual, I don't own _ (insert BBC's Sherlock here)  
On with the show! (Also, this chapter jumps around between Molly and Lestrade and John and Sherlock.)**

* * *

Molly and Lestrade sat on the couch, waiting for the arrival of more of Scotland Yard's finest. They had been sitting, in silence, for the last ten minutes, waiting. Thinking. Contemplating. Praying. Hoping, just hoping that the doorbell would ring and that Sherlock and John would walk through the door, unchanged for their experience. But, much to their chagrin, both of them knew that the chances of that would be very, very slim. Mrs Hudson's voice cut through both of their thoughts, causing them to jump simultaneously.

"Your lot's come, Detective Inspector."

Lestrade shook himself from his dream and stood up to go and meet the multiple police cars out the front of 221 Baker Street. There was a lot that they had to catch up on.

Mrs Hudson went to the couch and gently took Molly's hand in her own. "Don't you worry, dear, Sherlock's as hard as they come. He'll be fine, have a little faith. You know how stubborn and annoying he can be. Heck, I'd be surprised if he doesn't turn up by the end of today." Molly said nothing, but grabbed Mrs Hudson's hand tighter, and gently leaned against the old lady. Mrs Hudson pulled Molly into an embrace, letting Molly's tears drip silently down her shoulder.

* * *

Meanwhile...

John jolted in his chair, realising that he had nodded off, for an unknown amount of time. He had been sitting impassively in his chair (not that he had a choice) watching Sherlock. After fifteen minutes of complete inactivity, John started looking around. He wondered what Sherlock would do, stuck in a position like this. That's when he started looking around, squinting in the dim light to try to find any useful objects or clues. Any way to get the both of them out of there. Frustrated at the lack of useful materials, he pulled against his restraints for the umpteenth time that day. And that's when he noticed the smallest little piece of metal flaking off the chair. And that was when he knew he had a plan.

* * *

"Alright, thanks guys."

Lestrade sighed as he closed his notepad. He'd started carrying it around after he started working with Sherlock. There had not been much evidence as to who these people were. They had found the van ditched two miles away from the house, so there were no leads there. There had been no more witnesses, as the cafe downstairs was closed for Christmas. So they were stuck there too. Lestrade rubbed his temples in frustration trying in vain to ease the strain on his forehead. Reluctantly, he pulled out his phone, walked up to Sherlock's flat, and called Sherlock's phone. After locating it, he opened up the contacts, scanning for contact details of the man who held his only hope of finding Sherlock Holmes and John Watson: Mycroft Holmes.

* * *

John had been trying for the last quarter of an hour to reach the little piece of metal next to his thigh. So focused on his task was he that he didn't notice Sherlock stir and wake up, forced to by the pain erupting through his shoulders. Sherlock grabbed John's attention.

"Ummm... don't keep doing that... people might talk."

* * *

**What did you think? Sherlock just flipped the "People might talk" line right on its head!  
Please review, I only just got the 2 reviews I was after (picky, aren't I?) but I decided that I'd like to receive as many reviews as humanly possible, it'd be nice if I could get, oh, maybe 20 (shock horror!) in the next couple of chapters, that'd be nice. Please do make yourself known, I'd love to be able to be spammed by reviews!  
Thanks for reading!  
Kimbee**


	9. Don't Just Sit There

**Okiedokey, what we have here, is a kind of short chapter... Sozburger for that.  
****Thanks to my reviewers, _Joo Lee_ and _Clufie_, and anyone who read it really...  
****Remember: Sherlock is not currently under my control. I mean to say, is not in my possession. I mean, I don't own it.**

* * *

Lestrade had barely even gotten through the last round of bad jazz and elevator music. He had spent an hour on the phone waiting to be transferred to the division where this 'Mycroft Holmes' worked. He hoped it was worth it. Just as he was told for the twenty seventh time to "Please hold, and I'll transfer you..." there was a knock at the door, and Mycroft himself walked in, brandishing an umbrella.

"I'm sorry about the inconvenience, Detective Inspector, but I'm sure you'll agree it was necessary."

Lestrade looked questioningly at Mycroft. "Did I just speak to the same two people over and over again?!"

Mycroft looked amused. "No. Just the one."

Lestrade stood there, stunned. Mycroft stared back incredulously. "You are calling about my younger brother, aren't you?"

Lestrade nodded his head in stunned silence. "Yes. How do you... never mind. Do you have any idea where he is?"

"Sherlock Holmes and John Watson are in a shipping container aboard a ship with the name _Northwestern _currently on the Thames anchored just in front of the disused Battersea Power Station. Is there anything else I can help you with before I go and clean up what is quite frankly a shambles between us and the Vietnamese government?"

A vein in Lestrade's forehead nearly exploded. "You knew?! How could you know?! Why didn't you tell us?! What kind of sick ani...?!"

Mycroft calmly interrupted. "I had to make sure that this new... partnership... between my brother and John Watson has not affected Sherlock's loyalties."

A realisation hit Lestrade. "So... if this is your doing... and those are your guys who took them on... it means that no-one is getting hurt, right?"

"No."

"NO?!"

"We simply leaked small amounts of information to a particularly disgruntled South American weapons cartel as to Sherlock's location, his connection to myself, and any weaknesses."  
He paused at Lestrade's horrified look.  
"Oh don't worry, nobody's going to die."

Lestrade looked at him with frustration.

"We have people monitoring the health of my brother and Dr Watson. If anything... undesirable occurs, then we move in, taking out the cartel leader in the process. Two birds, one stone."

Lestrade shook his head and sighed. Trust Sherlock to get himself wrapped up in international affairs.

* * *

Meanwhile...  
"Stop moving Sherlock! Do you _know_ how hard it is to try to pick a lock WHEN IT'S MOVING?!"

"John, you simply have to hold the lock steady. I really don't think..."

"I DON'T HAVE THREE HANDS SHERLOCK! WHAT, DO YOU THINK I AM A MONKEY AND CAN GET MY LEG THAT HIGH?! I HAVE A GUNSHOT WOUND, FOR PETE'S SAKE!"

* * *

**Teeheehee John... and DUN DUN DUNNNNN! Did anyone see that coming?! The story ends rather quickly from now on, I'm afraid.  
I'd like some reviews, remember that 20 is my goal (I only need 4 left!) before the next chapter.  
Seriously, I'm not asking for a deep and meaningful essay on the themes and stuff in here. Just a word or two would suffice. (hey, a review's a review!)  
Thanks to everyone who has read this far into my story...  
Kimbee**


	10. Don't Hold a Grudge

**Hello Everyone! Sorry this chapter is a little later than usual, I'll try to be more on-time tonight. :)  
A massive, massive thank you goes to ****_Worst3ver, Clufie, _****and ****_Reiterin_**** for their reviews, as well as those who favourited and followed.  
I don't own Sherlock.  
Oh, yes! AND GOOD NEWS EVERYBODY! I hit 1000 views! Thank you! (yes, you. You who be reading this right N-O-W!)**

* * *

The last lock gave and Sherlock collapsed to the floor with a thud. "You know John, it would have been nice if you could have caught me."

"Too bad. If you hadn't been so _irritating_ I may have."

"Any idea how to get out?"

"Nope."

"Well then, it's a good thing that _I _do."  
Sherlock proceeded to give John a smug smile as he led the way, kicking down the door and strolling through.

"_Sherlock!_" John hissed as Sherlock kicked the door. "How do you know they aren't out there aiming a billion guns at us?"

"Relax, John. It's empty. I heard a dinghy leave as you were picking my locks. There's no one here but us and maybe a couple of guys, we'll be fine."

"We're on A BOAT?! But I thought..."

"Yes, you thought we were in a warehouse. We were, but they must have moved us when I was out. They tried to replicate the surroundings of the workhouse, and they did well, the only way you can tell we are on a boat from the slight rocking and the sound. Happy now?"

As the pair walked around a corner, they each ended up with their noses practically touching the end of a very nasty looking gun barrel, each also staring at a very very nasty looking man. Sherlock, knowing that John wouldn't be able to take out any more guys raised his hands in surrender. John, slightly shocked at Sherlock's decision, but nonetheless relieved, followed. The men, seized them, dragged them back into the room and put them back into their restraints, except this time Sherlock was in the chair and John strung up. His previous wounds screamed in pain as he was forced to stretch up. As the two men headed to the door, the larger one turned around.  
"This is to make sure that you don't escape again."  
And with that he promptly shot John in the knee, causing John to gasp in pain and Sherlock to grimace with concern. The man then left, leaving the other two broken.

* * *

Meanwhile...

Lestrade was on a boat, ready to board the _Northwestern_with a team of the best officers he could find on Christmas Day. He had set up a sniper team, and the paramedics were nearby. He was waiting for the final word to confirm that everyone was ready and in position when they heard a gunshot. Then, all hell broke loose.

"SHOTS FIRED! SHOTS FIRED! ALL PERSONELL RESPOND IMMEDIATELY!"

Every member of the police force present stormed onto the ship, followed by a huge herd of men in suits. No one knew where they had come from; they just appeared, flashed their badges and ran onto the boat.

Sherlock heard the commotion first.

"John, are you okay? I think Lestrade's here. And Mycroft too, seeing as it was all his doing."

That caught John's attention. "Mycroft? As in, your brother Mycroft Holmes. As in the people that they've been interrogating you about. How is this situation, that we are in, his fault?!"

"He gave them the information that led them to us. Well, me specifically. It's a test."

"You couldn't have told me earlier?!"

"No!"

John decided that there was only going to be one Holmes on Earth as soon as he was free.

* * *

**Well, well, well... What do we think? Which Holmes has irked John more? (Don't worry, no-one's actually going to die, I promise)  
You know how much I like reviews. At least 2 would be nice. :) Please?  
Thank you for reading!  
Kimbee**


	11. Don't Lie to Yourself

**I'm on time! (or early...) But this is the 2nd last chapter! :(  
Thank you for my 25 reviews! A special thank you goes out to ****_Demetra Rose Riddle, Sherlockreader, and Worst3ver_**** for their reviews yesterday (sometimes multiple!)  
As per usual... I don't own Sherlock.**

* * *

As Lestrade got on the boat, he went straight for the door. The entire boat had what seemed to be a network of shipping containers joined together with only one entrance. He hoped that one of these fancy-pants British government agents had some way of locating Sherlock and John in that labyrinth. The officers and agents surrounded the door, preparing to breach. They counted down, and as they reached one, the man and the ram went through the door. The officer holding the ram opened it, and the first agent through got shot square in the chest, straight into the man's kevlar. This was then met by almost every officer and agent there shooting at the assailant and his friend, who seemed to have grossly underestimated the amount of opposition that they were going to face on the other side of that door. Screw reasonable force, they had just tried to shoot a police officer. They were going down.

As Lestrade ran past the Swiss-cheese corpses to find the next door, he heard a familiar voice. As he turned around, Mycroft was standing there, still holding the umbrella, but also what appeared to be a video camera and screen.

"Thermal camera." Was the answer to Lestrade's unspoken question, and he was promptly handed the device before Mycroft walked away.  
Now with the thermal camera, Lestrade ran through the many halls looking for the two heat signatures. When he found them, he called out, many other officers joining him. He handed the tech to one of the junior officers, then shouldered open the door and gasped at the scene. Sherlock was sitting in a chair, relaxed, with a smug smile across his face, and John, strung up from the ceiling, looking barely alive.

"See John, I told you they were here."

* * *

2 weeks later...

"There you go John, that'll make you feel much better dear."  
Mrs Hudson handed John a cup of tea and some biscuits. He was in bed, stuck in his flat. After the whole 'ordeal' thing Sherlock had been distant. Although he had come to see John, almost every day at that, he still looked like he was missing something. John questioned him that afternoon.

"Sherlock, what's wrong?"

Sherlock looked up. "What do you mean?"

"You've been looking off since we came back."

"It's... well... I... Molly said she loved me, John."

"Oh... She said it just like that?"

"Yes."

"Aaaaaannnnddddd... what did you say?

"I said I was unlovable."

John shook his head. "You're an idiot. Really. I don't understand how you are all smart and can work out that we're on a boat from just about nothing yet you still have NO UNDERSTANDINGS OF BASIC INTERACTION."

"What do I do, John?" Sherlock looked defeated as he asked John for advice for the first (and quite possibly final) time.

"You tell her your true feelings, Sherlock."

* * *

**Nawwww, Sherlock went to John for help! What do you think of their rescue?  
AAAAND as usual, I'm begging for reviews, but I decided that you guys will review if you want to, so I'm leaving it up to you. :) (please review, please review, please review *cough* what?)  
Thanks for reading!  
Kimbee **


	12. Don't You Dare Do That Again Young Man

**It's the final chapter! I hope you've enjoyed the ride, I have loved every single one of your reviews, so thank you for that.  
A massive, massive thanks to ****_Worst3ver _****for submitting the ONLY REVIEW!  
I do indeed thank all the reviewers for their continued support, and thank you to all of the people who favourited and followed.  
For the final time this story, I do not own Sherlock, or any of the affiliated characters.**

* * *

When Mrs Hudson heard about why the boys got abducted, she was aghast. John had to try everything to convince her not to go and storm up to Mycroft's office and give him a piece of her mind. She seemed slightly relieved when she found out that they were being carefully monitored, but she was still royally ticked off. So when Mycroft decided to visit, he was in for a hard time.

Mrs Hudson opened the door, led him to John's room, and then turned around and said,  
"Mycroft Holmes. HOW DARE you lead your brother and John to WANTED INTERNATIONAL CRIMINALS! WHAT KIND OF BROTHER ARE YOU?! You my boy, should be terribly, terribly ashamed of yourself. Family indeed! You had better not pull another stunt like this or I WILL poison every coffee you buy from my cafe, do you hear?!"  
and with that she stalked out of the room, leaving John and Mycroft to talk.

"She's very protective." John chuckled at Mycroft's uncomfortableness.

"So I can see..." Mycroft stated dryly.

"Look, there's nothing that I wanted to say that Mrs Hudson hasn't already covered. But I can promise you that if you dare do another thing like that to Sherlock, to me, or anyone we know, I will find you, and will not hesitate to end your life."

"Understood, Doctor Watson. Molly Hooper is safe, don't you worry."

And with that, Mycroft left, leaving John a tin of biscuits and a blank card with a bunch of flowers depicted on the front whose message read only, "Get Well Soon".

He saw Molly return home from her job. He knew that she had gone to see John a few times but always seemed to miss him, because he hid from her. He saw her turn on the light, revealing him sitting at the head of a chocolate and rose covered table.

"Oh! Sherlock... you really need to stop doing..."

"I love you too, Molly Hooper."

Sherlock woke up, realising that it was a dream. But he knew what he had to do next.

* * *

**Aaaaaaaaaaand that be the end of Complications (although if you want an epilogue, I might write one [review and let me know if you do!])  
And I apologise for the dream bit, it was a request from my friend(but it was only the end bit that was the dream, everything else actually happened).  
As always, for what may be the final time, I'd like you all to review (including guests) please!  
And thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for reading Complications. As my first fic I was a bit nervous as to the response, but you guys made it a wonderful experience.  
Kimbee **


	13. Do You Love Me

**Wait? There's more?! Yes, yes there is! Due to the fact I had more than 0 people review, I've decided to write an epilogue for you guys.  
A massively huge thank you to ****_Demetra Rose Riddle_****, ****_WhoNeedsTheLimelight, Worst3ver, Clufie, Inaieu, _****and ****_Guest_**** for reviewing. Thank you so much everyone. Like, everyone.  
I apologise if you find any silly mistakes, I wanted to get this out quick for you. I checked it as best as I could. :)**

**For what I ASSURE you is the final time: I. Do Not. Own. Sherlock.**

* * *

Sherlock sat alone in the dark. He took a deep breath, steadying himself. He felt unprepared, exposed, unsure. He hated that feeling. Insecurity. How he detested the feeling of not knowing the outcome, being unsure about the facts. He had run through the plan precisely forty-three times, where twenty seven of them had been positive outcomes and sixteen of the outcomes were negative, ranging from mild discomfort to complete catastrophe. He tried not to focus on the catastrophe ones, logically speaking the probability that Molly would get hit by a car and never return home was close to naught.

Sherlock looked at the time. It was 5:45pm, Molly would be arriving between now and 5:47pm, depending on the punctuality of the Tube. He inhaled sharply. What was it that John had said to him before he left? 'No turning back. Just go there and tell her how you feel.' Sherlock sat in silence, the rose petals he had meticulously scattered on the table gently stroking his hands.

Five minutes later, Sherlock was worried. Maybe Molly really had been hit by a car, or crushed in the tube, and he would never get his chance to tell her how much he loved her. Just as he was about to give up, the door opened. There was something wrong, Molly usually came home alone, but there was another voice with her. She called out to the person, "Thanks for doing this for me!" as she walked into the door. She turned around switched on the light, and jumped.

"Sherlock! What are... what are you doing here?"

"I love you too, Molly Hoo..." Sherlock never got to finish his sentence. The mystery figure walked in, revealing none other than Jim Moriarty.  
"Okay, so now what was the problem with your..." Moriarty stopped. "Sherlock, right? We met at the hospital?"

Sherlock looked in shock.  
"You're supposed to..."  
He caught himself before anything could slip out. "Yes, I remember you. Molly, have you checked your mailbox?"

"Ummm yes..? Sherlock? What's going on? Why are there rose petals everywhere?"

"I came here to tell you something very important. What's he," Sherlock gesticulated in Moriarty's direction "doing here?"

"Oh, Jim offered to fix my laptop. It's been making strange noises for months now, and I met him last week outside work, so he said he'd take a look."

"Yes, Molly and I have... reconnected." Moriarty offered, as he wrapped his hand around Molly's waist, looking at her and smiling.

Sherlock's heart broke into two as he noticed something.

It was a smile that Molly returned.

* * *

**Okay, okay, okay. So you want to rip my head off. (I did too, after I realised what I had done. Sorry! Really, I very much am!) BUT. There's going to be a sequel, which I shall start on tomorrow! (probably... But I only publish my fics when they're complete, or at least mostly complete, so you might have to wait a little while to read it. And with my final year of high school starting soon, you may be in for a loooong, loooooooooooong wait. But that's worst case scenario.)  
Thank you again to EVER SINGLE ONE OF YOU who has read this piece of work. Thank you thank you thank you.  
Thanks for reading!  
Kimbee**


End file.
